


Intelligence Report

by sudo_InkR4VEN



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Adam want sum fuck?, Don't worry it's a good buildup, F/M, My second fic ever!, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Romance, or - Freeform, the long awaited sequel, yet again I must populate this tag with fic, you the reader doing a sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9949538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudo_InkR4VEN/pseuds/sudo_InkR4VEN
Summary: This spy-flick stuff isn’t really your speed, and you couldn’t help but feel lost, lacking the right tools to handle the whole situation. Bombs might be intricate, or have surprises, but they didn’t have body language to read or covers to maintain as you worked on them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now with way more plot than I intended, I swear there’s porn in here. A slight hinting of Koller/Jensen since Adam is definitely bi. You, the reader, also have the last name of Stike for ease of reading.
> 
> thank you SO SO MUCH to my friend Erithan for being my beta! And for everyone in the fandom supporting me - it would've been REALLY hard to finish this without you all.
> 
> And, also thanks go to my girlfriend, because she is the best.

Adam walks into Koller’s workshop, which looks to be a half-museum, half Frankenstein’s labratory, thrumming with the beginnings of “Blitzkrieg Bop”. The ancient subwoofers are having trouble processing the audio; A buzzing tone shakes the speakers as the song hits certain notes.

"Adam! Give me a second man. I'm tweaking something for a customer."

Koller bends over a workbench, a cloth toolset slotted with various delicate instruments beside him. He quickly pulls out whatever tool he needs, then slides it away again as he finishes. It’s like watching a hummingbird feed, twitchy precise motions while staying in place.

Adam sighs, half of affection and partly of exasperation. It’s a wonder to see Koller work, but dealing with him could be frustrating if it wasn’t urgent. Unfortunately, Adam typically comes in when he needs something fixed immediately. This time, he’d decided to actually come in and take care of something before it became an emergency, and he isn't accustomed to waiting.

Which is stupid. It's not like he could monopolize Koller’s time with his globe-trotting adventures.

"What's that?" Adam peers over Koller’s shoulder.

He expects to see the typical disembodied aug limb (always slightly unnerving), but was surprised to find otherwise. A delicate wire network connecting to various microscopic chips hung off of several tiny hooks. Various magnifiers show the intricacies of each chip as Koller is working.

Koller waves his hand in dismissal, tool carelessly pointing right at his own face and nearly hitting his nose.

"Oh just some neural stuff. Really quite experimental. Never seen anything like it, but she said  she knows enough that I could mess with it and not screw anything up." Koller takes a deep breath and starts to continue.

"Koller."

"Right right, one second, and" A small spark goes off as the cyberneticist fires a small gun-like tool. "Done! So, what brings you to my lab?” He rotates on his chair, leaning back to peer up at Adam.

"Usually you're like, limping or bleeding or something?" Koller’s head tilts to the side, chin in the palm of his hand.

"Well, it's a bit of a glitch with my arm. And some shrapnel got caught in one of my servos I'm sure." The augmented agent rotates his left shoulder then flexes his elbow to show a stutter in the movement.

Adam faces towards Koller, giving the appearance of eye contact but he looks to the side under his glasses. He always feels like he’s telling his mom that he did something wrong when it comes to what’s going on with his augs. He usually just keeps issues to himself, until they become too severe (or numerous) to overcome with his sheer stubbornness.

Koller springs up and almost pats Adam on the arm, but settles for a gentle tap on the shoulder instead. Adam always seems a bit leery of personal contact, but that was probably a combination of his shades and American sense of  'personal space' that tends to keep people away.

"Let's take a look shall we? Come into my office, sit in my chair!"

The eager cyberneticist runs to drop off his previous toolkit (delicate, scalpel-like) and grab a different one (looking more like a typical toolbox). By the time Adam shucks off his jacket and sits down, the ‘mad' scientist already has the tools in hand, sitting in another chair besides the operation chair. Sometimes it scares the Interpol agent how fast Koller moves when he gets excited about his augs.

“Just…Try to get this done quickly. I have other places to be.”

Adam is as relaxed in the chair as he can manage, which is kinda hard since Valclav is getting into his systems. He trusts the tech, but having someone just open him up still feels too weird. A few short years ago he would’ve had to be under anesthesia and only blood, bone, and marrow were to be found.

“Yeah man, no problem! You know I’m professional.”

The former Sarif employee holds out his arm for Koller to access and Jensen tries to be attentive to what Koller’s saying as he works. It’s hard not be distracted by the way Koller’s eyes shine when he finds something particularly interesting or puzzling. Those wild black bangs flicker in front of Valclav’s eyes, serving to further animate his excitement as he prattles on about other augmented people he’s worked on (names and telltale features redacted of course).

“...You know, it’s funny, I had another person come in with arms like yours. It’s why I was able to get these new servos out of my boxes right away.” He wiggles the parts in his hand at Jensen.

“Don’t you see Sarif tech all the time?” Adam isn’t sure if he should be encouraging Koller like this (he might be here for too long if he keeps letting him talk), but it helps to pass the time. And the agent would be damned if Koller knows that he finds the patter soothing.

“Not like these man! Top of the line! Looked like prototypes. Kinda like yours, actually.” The scientist’s hand scratches under his chin, smudging grease there.

Adam perks up and shifts forward at the last part of the sentence. Koller tuts and pushes Adam back into the seat.

“Don’t move when I work on you man, you’ll fuck it up.”

Adam stops moving and looks Koller directly in the eye.

“Like mine? What did the person look like?”

_‘Was it her? No.. I doubt she would be in Prague of all places…’_

“Adam, man, you know I can’t tell you that! Forget I said anything at all. Even if you’ve got the slickest shit I’ve ever seen, doesn’t mean I can’t just tell you who else has stuff like that too.”

Adam frowns to himself, but keeps quiet to let Koller continue working without interruption. After all, it was entirely possible someone had stolen the augs off of one of the abandoned production lines in Detroit.

\----------

A flock of birds fly past some dirty windows, sending shadows skittering across your room. Your cat (community cat? Everyone in the complex had fed it at _some_ point) attempts to bat at them, claws scratching on glass and waking you up. You jolt at the harsh noise. Job done, the cat pauses to lick its paw nonchalantly.

_'Fucking hell, last time I go drinking on a Sunday night '_

Staring at the mirror across from your bed you see yourself. Unkempt hair, makeup from the previous night smudged on your face. Your next exhale blows some strands out of your face, only to have it flop back into your eyes.

_'Who're kidding, you're nearly a high functioning Alcoholic at this point '_

Sitting up out of bed with a groan, you pull yourself out of the nest of sheets to try and get something, _anything_ , done today. Shit, you have work, don’t you?

After the Incident, even with the uptick in Sarif stock(and subsequent pay raise) , you couldn't live with the memories of seeing people butchering each other in the streets of Detroit. They make the Sarif break in flashbacks look like rainbows and sugar plum fairies.

The hedgehog in your head is poking its little needles everywhere inside your skull as you attempt to try and get ready for work. You’d been trying to forget those memories last night ( _if_ _only_ soaking them in alcohol and lighting a match could give you relief), but this morning you’re paying the price with one hell of a headache.

Sarif himself had been kind enough to send you off with a personal thank you (yet another severance package, _much_ nicer than Detroit MPD and with a few cases of nu-pos to boot) and letters of recommendation to get you a job anywhere you'd like. Versalife had been interested in you because of your augs, but you decided to go PMC instead.

Stumbling around your apartment bleary eyed, you manage to get into your kitchen and start to fix yourself a cup of coffee. You stare outside as the water heats up, contemplating how you ended up here in the first place.

Your hands weren't made for a lab, they were made for the field (and being inside labs for too long made you _restless_ ). It'd been a good run. Cambodia. Ivory Coast. South Africa. Since EOD is pretty specialized, your assignments are short but intense, with lots of downtime between.

Thankfully, the breakfast you’re preparing now is much better than those you’d had in the field as part of a PMC. It’s hard not to miss the intense nature of the work. Your current job…isn’t nearly as demanding. Or exciting. Or even all that noble. At least PMCs were upfront about the fact that they were for hire. Your current employment, not so much.

A glare at the Kevlar vest emblazoned with your last name (“Stike”) goes unheeded, as you try and wrestle the rest of your gear on before shrugging on the vest. Just another day of work at a corrupt police racket in Europe. You happen to be one of the only honest souls in the department, but with your augments no one is going to be giving you the time of day.

Of _course_ fucking Massani had to ruin it all. Stuck in Prague with an offer you couldn't refuse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wherein i rip an entire character from another series and deposit them into Deus Ex

"Snip, I don't think you want to touch that."

An augmented eye flicks upwards from a fan of cards, giving you a steady stare. A fanfare of crickets echoes in the warehouse you’re camped in, several of you cramped in around a makeshift table in the sweltering Costa Rican night.

"It's mine dammit, won it fair and square!”

You drop your hand of cards to lunge after the pile of protein bars you’ve won (half of them your favorite flavor!!!). Usually you suck at card games, but tonight you're lucky. You start to slide them off the table when -

"Read'em and weep sweetheart." drawled Massani. He spreads out his hand with a flourish on the table. The last ace in the deck. What a bastard!

"No wayyyyyy"

You hang your head and push the pile back. The augmented man chuckles at your misfortune, mouth puckering at the scar running across his lip.

"Told ya not to touch 'em snip. You got close though."

He starts to gather the deck back up, protein bars piled next to him. Pausing for a moment, he takes one of them and tosses it to you.

“Better luck next time kid." Turning it over in your hands, you notice he gave you your favorite flavor. It's the small things, right?

"Alright everyone, stop fuckin' laying about and get back on watch."

Everyone stands up from the game and stretches, looking around before heading to relieve shifts from their respective partners keeping watch. You linger, wanting to ask your boss something.

"Massani, what's the next assignment after this?"

You keep your voice down, knowing that it was a sensitive subject. He ran the outfit you were in currently, and it was no secret that work for augs was starting to dry up.

Rumors are circling about the UN enacting some sort of registration, or regulation, of augs after the incident but the governing body had been hush-hush up to that point. Only Samizdat has really published anything about it, and you mostly look at the paper to have something to read that doesn’t have Eliza’s creepy face staring out from it.

Since PMCs do the dirty work, most countries look the other way, but with public sentiment running against augs it was harder and harder to find those who don't mind giving sensitive situations to those who had been affected by the Incident.

"Snip. I've actually got a good job for you, specifically." The old merc starts to tap away at a pocket secretary as you both step through the marshy underbrush to the perimeter of camp.

"I'm listening." You avoid a particularly muddy hole in the ground as you follow.

"Board this flight once we’re done here. I’m sending you the tickets now.”

He sends the confirmation number to your own pocket secretary, a ping sounding as the download finished. You spare a glance to the flight details. Stopover in Prague, then London as the final destination.

"...London? What, did you get a contract with the mayor for me?”

If your eyebrows went any higher on your forehead, they would be part of your hairline. The UK and London in general were known for having very high anti-aug sentiment. As one of the densest population centers of augs, there had been an abnormally high number of casualties when the Incident hit.

How the hell had he managed to find work there?

"An old dog like me, I don't have anything else I can offer you besides wetwork if you stick around. You're still young. I’m giving you a chance to get out of here and get a good life while you still can."

Massani's not even making eye contact with you, a grim line marking his mouth. The lit cigarette shifts, highlighting craggy scars and the reconstruction surgery from where he got shot point-blank in the head.

"Massani...Are you letting me go? After all the good work we've done?!"

Your hands clench, and the palms register the pressure. No pain though, not yet (if you had flesh and blood hands they _would_ be bleeding by now). It's hard to keep your voice down, but you manage to throttle back and continue.

“Massani-“

But he cuts you off.

"No, Stike. I'm not letting you go. I'm renting you out to a different company. And before you argue with me, the contract’s six months and much better pay than I'd ever be able to give you. Training too."

He keeps looking off in the distance and hands you the pocket secretary, tapping the ash off and taking another drag.

By the time he finishes the cig, you're convinced by what you see on the digital device.

“Alright, fine. You know I hate you though, right? This’ll be the third job I’ve had that was supposed to be permanent.” You take a bite out of your energy bar that you’d ‘won’ earlier.

“Quit your complaining. A little bit of experience never hurt anyone.”

You stare at him pointedly.

“Pretty sure that I was getting plenty of experience from you.” You pause to devour the rest of your energy bar. The pause was longer than you intended. It didn’t help that the thing was so damn tasty.

“Thanks for the arrangement. I guess.” Your hands are on your hips and you sigh again. “I suppose it’s really not different than any normal assignment. I just won’t have you guys on my six.”

“That’s the spirit.” Massani claps you on the shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of closeness. He turns away and starts heading back to camp.

Frankly, you couldn’t help but feel more uneasy.

\---

After the contract in Costa Rica was done, you start to load up your gear into your pack. You didn’t bring much with you since you were always on the move. Any furniture you owned and larger possessions were either sold, left behind in Detroit, or in a storage locker that Massani was kind enough to let you share some space in.

The rest of the unit was moving the camping equipment back into their one and only VTOL, a rickety thing piloted by Massani himself. When asked where he’d learned to pilot, he had grunted something about someone named Shepard and refused to say anything else on the matter.

_‘Whatever, old bastard has a right to a mysterious past I suppose. Probably looks better to people he gets contracts with.’_

Climbing aboard the VTOL is a tight fit, with the seats being small to accommodate the amount of people in Massani’s entire company. Everything non-essential was stripped out of the old beast, so the seats were merely nylon strips woven together to make a place to sit. It’s reminiscent of the C-130 aircraft carriers you’ve ridden in once or twice when you’d had to do some joint taskforce work with the FBI.

“Alright Snip, we’re dropping you off at the civilian airport. You need anything or have trouble getting on the first leg, let me know, it should be smooth sailing for the rest.” 

You nod and settle back into your seat as best you can, ready to sleep for the few hours you can manage.

\---

Massani shakes your hand.

“Been a real pleasure workin’ with you. You let me know if there’s anything you need later down the line.”

“Same here!” You step off of the ramp for the VTOL and wave as the bird closes up, the rest of the gang shouting their goodbyes over the engines.

Turning away, you hoist your gear bag over your shoulder and start the long walk towards the terminal. The air traffic controllers had been dicks when they realized who you were, (The name Terminus Risk Control didn’t have much weight apparently) and so now you had to walk all the way to the regular terminal to take an augs-only airplane.

One plane to Prague later and you’re tired, cranky, and severely jet-lagged. When you trudge through customs (‘nicely’ segregated into natural only and augs only), you snarl at the officer in frustration, and now you’re pulled aside for ‘additional screening’.

_‘Additional screening my ass’_

“Hello, ma’am? Step over here to my office.” Another police officer shows up. And you suspect that those two other officers behind him were not just for show, but there for you as well.

_‘Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Are they going to arrest me?’_

You comply, following and trying to keep your bearing. Down two corridors, you’re lead into a room that is obviously used for interrogation. The police officer enters the room first. The other two take positions on both sides of the door.

_‘Stony silence might be the best way to go here. Maybe if I don’t say anything I should be ok.’_

“Please, sit down.”

Again, you comply. Mostly out of instinct, but also to show respect. Thankfully there are two chairs and a table, so you know the man isn’t planning on standing while you were sitting to try and intimidate you.

“Stike, is it? Are you aware that your augments violate several local laws?”

“No sir.”

“Well, you should be. Passing through here without a permit for military-grade augmentations is a jail able offence.” The officer taps a pen on the table. His uniform is somewhat rumpled, a tell-tale sign of having spent all day in it.

“I wasn’t made aware of the travel restrictions, _sir_. The tickets were a gift.” You’re holding yourself back but barely. Your hands clench in your lap.

The officer takes a sheet of paper off of the table, a printout of some kind.

“Let’s see here. Sarif Industries arm replacements, prototypes. Packaged with Mark 10 bio-chemical detectors, as well as a nanomolecular blade in one of them. And we couldn’t get a good read on some of these neural implants. Care to explain? Or are those aftermarket?”

“I got those legally. I worked for Sarif. They were part of my package when he employed me.” You’re terse, to the point.

“I don’t care if Sarif designed them for you personally! You’re violating the law by coming through here with unauthorized military-grade augs without the proper paperwork filled out.” The officer is tapping the pen on the table to punctuate his statements.

You start to cross your arms, but then realize that it could be read as defensive body language. It’s better to just take that arm and rest it on your knee.

The officer eyes your movement as if you say ‘go ahead, make my day’.

You’re not planning on making anyone’s day but your own _, thank you very much_. You hold as still as possible and take a long, slow, silent breath.

Both of you have your eyes locked, refusing to budge. Anything you say will be used against you, and you’re not planning on measuring the rope to your own noose.

A knock on the door.

“Sir? It’s command sir. They want to speak to you.”

A guard holds out a cellphone to the officer across from you. He stands up to take the call, walking out into the hall. You let out a small sigh, relaxing slighting now that the customs officer is out of the room.

The officer stalks back in, looking annoyed but also confident.

“It looks like you have someone in high places who is in need of your skills,” he paused (for dramatic effect, you’re pretty sure).

“I’m told you’re to report to the Prague Police headquarters for further instructions. Or, you can take the jail time. With that on your record, there’s no chance of you living in the city proper.” The officer is standing, leaning forward on the table and into your face.

“You’d most likely be sent to the Utulek Complex after you serve your time. I’ve heard your fellow augs aren’t too kind to someone they see as a ‘wrench’, no?”

You jolt at the term. Obviously they know you’d been former police, but that was before you were augmented. But it wasn’t like anyone was going to check your history too closely outside of this office– as soon as anyone in the Utulek Complex finds out you were former police AND augmented, you would’ve been finished. Period.

After being escorted out of the room, the officer motions to the guards.

“Make sure she gets to where she’s supposed to go. We don’t want her to get lost, now do we?”

As you walk, you decide it would be wiser to spend some time online rather than focus too much on what was happening currently. Otherwise you’d probably blow a fuse.

You punch up the personal messenger app on your pocket secretary, hands shaking.

_Welcome back to MChat, SnappyS! You have no new messages._

\---Chat: MassBlue---

SnappyS: You goddamned MOTHERFUCKER

SnappyS: You set me up!

MassBlue: Nah i did u a favor Snip.

SnappyS: You know, I was REALLY looking forward to London? Their food is really good.

SnappyS: Now I’m stuck HERE in fucking PRAGUE

MassBlue: look i owed the police a favor ok? I knew u didn’t like sum of the stuf we were doin so i thought u wante out anyways

SnappyS: Well, I didn’t like ALL of it but some of it was pretty legit stuff. We saved some of those aug children remember? The ones who they tried to turn into goddamned bombs?

MassBlue: all that was under radar thou an u didn’t get recognition at all

MassBlue: I did u a goddamned favor getting u out before it wud kill u They don’t go after me cuz im too old So shut the fuck up and do wut they tell u until I get soum stuff sorted

MassBlue: ok?

MassBlue: btw ur stuff in my locker ill send once u give me an address

SnappyS: Fine.

_SnappyS signed off! Thank you for using MChat._

You shoulder your bag back on, having it handed to you by yet another officer. This one looks even less pleased than the rest to see you. “This way, cog.” It was a wonder that they didn’t spit on you.

“Looks like the director needs a wrench. I guess those augs must make you a pretty pet for the police chief.” The guard nudges the one next to him.

“I wonder how long she’ll last. A month?” The two cops escorting you cackle.

_‘Fucking assholes.’_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or, someone comes back from the dead and has a sweet ass

Director Miller slumps in an office chair. Massaging his head after yet ANOTHER headache (both literal _and_ metaphorical thank you very much) had appeared.

Local police were suddenly uncooperative with Task Force 29's investigation of the bombing, and it was biting at him something fierce. Evidence wasn't something that could help them catch the culprits if they couldn't get access to it!

Idly flicking the wheel of his mouse, he was browsing through his usual emails. Spam. Spam. Auto generated update. Chang getting paranoid again. Spam. Spa- wait.

Miller scrolls back up. The subject line declared "SnappySnipper - dead drop?”

 _Click-click_.

_______________

FROM: [ARIATF28@interpol.eu](mailto:ARIATF28@interpol.eu)

Miller,

I've been talking to our informant inside Prague PD, and they told me they have some information we might be interested in concerning the recent bombing . They want to have an in -person exchange though. Should we send Jensen?

>> 

_The contents of this email are considered confidential_

_________________

Miller reads through the details, a barely -there smile on his face. Things were looking up indeed, and if anything went wrong... Well, he could wash his hands of it if need be. He wasn’t really up to sacrificing an agent for something so trivial, but it was no secret that Jensen was causing a bit of fuss in his office.

If he could send him on this errand, it would be an easy way to get him out of the Task Force’s hair for a while.

\---  
  
"We have an informant in the police who claims to be able to provide the information we need to figure out who's responsible for this bombing. Aria?"

Aria clears her throat. She typically wasn't present for meetings, but she recently came into her own as someone who handles certain informants. It wasn't something she’s entirely comfortable with, but as an aug, others who were augmented were much more comfortable talking with her than with a natural. Especially as a cop.

"They go by the handle SnappySnipper. Very paranoid, and they haven't given us any pictures or an actual name. But I've tested them and they check out. What's interesting is that they want to meet in person this time." Aria slides a printed chat log across the table to Jensen.

"I suspect that they're not supposed to even have the information they're giving us if they're too nervous to leave it through the usual methods."

Adam frowns. "Or it's a trap." He scans his eyes over the paper. "They want to meet at the Red Queen? Isn't that Dvali territory? Why would a police informant want to meet in gang territory?”

Aria crosses her arms. "You know some of police are in their pocket. It makes sense for them to be seen there. At least, it certainly wouldn't be unusual."

Adam shrugs. “It’s either that, or I try to sneak around the police to get the information I need. Might as well try it this way first.”

Aria brightens considerably. “Great! Let me know before you go, I need to give you some surveillance gear.” Adam nodded and stood up, as well as Miller. The meeting is assumed to end, and Adam follows Aria down to the armory.

They both crowd into a little-used room that has more mundane gear for operations, mostly plainclothes and other things. Aria utters a quiet curse as she knocks something over.

When Aria tells Jensen what his ‘gear’ was going to be to maintain his cover, he nearly blanches.

“You’re serious?!” Aria shrugs.

“It’s in that chat log I printed out for you. I’m guessing you didn’t get to that part?”

Adam sighs. “Let’s just get this over with.”

\---

Adam examines the suit and sighs. Again. It was a bit tight for his tastes and shows off his augs much more than he was comfortable with. But, he had to grudgingly admit, he DID look pretty good.

Damn good, if he was truly honest.

To keep his cover as a high-end… well, ‘prostitute’ was a bit strong, but escort wasn’t exactly accurate either… He had to dress the part. It was common for people in the profession to dress like they WEREN’T part of the profession, or at least to simply look like a normal person at first glance. But the signs were there.

First, his augs were being prominently displayed. He was wearing a white color button down shirt with a vest over it, sleeves rolled up to show his augs. The black/white contrast screamed ‘look at me’. Then there was the fact that his shirt was also open to display a slice of bare skin. Another way of showing that not just his augs were in top shape, but that his body was as well. He had a golden silky tie loosened enough to let the skin show, but tight enough to keep the collar together in a presentable state. Obviously, it was meant to be pulled off right away. Still, it served to complete the look.

Maybe he’d keep this outfit after this whole mission was done.

(But, uh, not wear it like this)

\---

You’re pretty nervous about this whole arrangement. You didn’t want to do an in-person meeting at all. But something in your gut told you (seeing people trying to tail you out of your apartment had been unnerving and also _amusing_ ) that people were watching you at the police force much more closely than you could handle, and the only way you could think of to get them off of your back was to show that you were crooked like the rest of them.

Plus, it couldn’t hurt to build a little trust with Interpol by being an informant. Maybe then they could get you out of this clusterfuck of a job that the Prague PD had become. Right now though, you were nervous. You have no clue who the contact is, since you’re the one waiting on them specifically.

This spy-flick stuff isn’t really your speed, and you couldn’t help but feel lost, lacking the right tools to handle the whole situation. Bombs might be intricate, or have surprises, but they didn’t have body language to read or covers to maintain as you worked on them.

You’ve rented out one of the rooms with a few words, some credits and a couple of vials of posy to the Dvali and made up a bullshit story of wanting some private outside company for the night. You claimed to have ‘exotic taste” so that they would leave you alone about not wanting to buy out one of their own prostitutes. The fancy clothing and adopted mannerisms on your part are to cement the cover of a woman looking for some company for the evening. You’d then instructed your Interpol contact to make sure whoever they sent was dressed accordingly.

Were you maybe fucking with your Interpol contact a little? Maybe.

And maybe you just wanted to have an excuse to see some eye candy before handing over sensitive information (Interpol agents _had_ to be in shape after all). Since your cover was supposed to appear to be spending the whole night (or at _least_ a few hours) they would need to spend a little time in the room first. Then you could slip them out of a vent you’d found hidden behind one of the side tables.

Thinking about vents had you thinking about Adam…

After your ‘performance review’, you found flowers (a half dozen red roses, ‘ _Round 2?’_ ) in your office with no signs of your electronic lock being hacked OR physical tampering. The only evidence? The fact that a box had been moved from your wall just enough for you to notice that something was off. You’d peered behind it to see a vent, large enough to have a person squeeze through.

You took his death…pretty hard. You’d a hard time thinking that anyone (or anything) could kill him, but Pritchard had said himself he hadn’t seen him in over a year and even Sarif had had him declared MIA, presumed KIA. Ever since then, you’d had a few casual flings but nothing serious. The PMC work didn’t allow for attachments, and that was fine with you. It’s not like you would’ve had much luck before the Incident with that line of work, but after?

Well, let’s just say they had dating apps for augs only for a reason.

You haven’t really bothered to keep in contact with most of the former Sarif employees either. While you did manage to net some pretty nice augs from the contract, you knew you were just another cog in the machine and your work afterwards has kept you too busy to follow the news too closely.

You’d just shut yourself off from the world and focused on what had to be done. Just because there was one less light in the world didn’t mean you couldn’t work to save lives. It’s what Adam would’ve wanted.

Shaking your head slightly, you clear your thoughts.

_‘Now’s not the time for that line of thinking. You’re playing a part here, remember that!’_

A glass of red wine sits on the bar in front of you. Absently you swirl it in your glass, crossing your legs at the ankles on the tall bar stool. The very picture of elegance and refinery, in both appearance and mannerisms. You’d rented a slinky red dress from the nearby tailor, which was a dark wine red at the bottom that gradually pulled into a brilliant ruby. It hits just above the knee – flirty, but not overly so. A simple necklace and bracelet complete the outfit, the golden bangle bolding proclaiming its existence on your jet-black wrist.

Sitting at the bar upstairs also helps to maintain your cover – those who were liked by the Dvali are typically allowed to linger there as long as they wish (usually people in their pocket, like your _boss_ ), and also allows for quick access to the private rooms without too many onlookers. Or rather, the right _kind_ of onlookers – those who would notice your presence, take note, and report it to the people who mattered.

To maintain your loyal Police image, that last part was essential. Already, you notice one or two people who look vaguely familiar are loitering around the bar area and the small patio outside. Looking out past the balcony afforded one a great view of the Red Light district – as well as those coming in and out of the premises.

Overall, your present sitting location can’t be more perfect for what you’re doing.

You check your watch on your wrist. You haven’t changed it out from the one you use everyday for police work, so it jars a bit with your outfit, but it also shows you as a policewoman so you don’t really care (you have to signal to the watcher in this place that you were police, after all). The contact isn’t late, but it’s getting close to the appointed time. Checking your watch was something you’d rather do than get caught by surprise by the agent’s arrival while you’re on your pocket secretary or something.

Looking out the window again away from the bar, you don’t notice any figures out of the ordinary in the typical night life scene. Either the agent is late, or they’re much better at blending in that you gave them credit for.

“I’m looking for someone named Snip?”

You’re about to turn around, when your brain parses the voice. No. Wait.

What?

You turn around slowly, hair concealing your face partly as it falls away from your vision to reveal the agent.

None other than Adam _goddamned_ Jensen is standing in front of you, back from the dead apparently. Dressed to the nines (like you’d requested, and _holy shit_ were those gonna get torn _off_ ), his face shows an equal amount of shock at seeing you.

You mouth is hanging open slightly, and you very slowly raise you glass and drink the wine. This action buys the both of you time to regain your composure. If it’s too obvious that you’re shocked to see each other, the Dvali (and the police) would know something was up.

Clearing your throat, you look him in the eye (as well as one could manage, with those damn lenses deployed).

“That’s me,” you slide off the stool and saunter over to him, “handsome.” You can’t resist brushing your thumb over the back of his hand resting on the bar. It’s more an action a natural would do, but…

He chuckles. “Well ‘Snip’, let’s head to the back. Shall we?”

He holds out his arm and you snake yours through, the augs complimentary to each other as you lead him to the room. It’s hard not to be shaking with excitement and also disbelief, but you can’t show that until you get behind closed doors. Automatically you open the door, letting him enter first, then shut it with a click.

Immediately, you have to resist the urge to explode at him with questions. He appears to feel the same way, though his arms are crossed.

“I thought you were fucking _dead,_ Jensen!” The word ‘dead’ hisses out like a curse word.

“And I thought you would still be back in Detroit, Stike. How the hell did you end up as an informant for Interpol?” His frown is deepening by the second and he’s leaning back away from you.

You really don’t like the idea of him getting mad at you for being part of the Prague police, as if you were working for them voluntarily. Hell, you bet the same bastards harassed him non-stop when he had to go to work!

“I got screwed over by my previous employer, though they insisted they were doing me a favor. You know me, Ad- Jensen. I don’t work for crooked cops, not by choice.” Adam looks you up and down, frowns more. When did he get so damn morose?

“Who were you working for?” He sounds suspicious. Suspicious!

_‘Why you-‘_

“Terminus Risk Management. Run by Zaeed Massani.” You cross your arms. Adam stares and considers for a second, then blinks, looking less tense. Apparently what you said puts him at rest.

“You look like you could use more sleep.” His frown softens, stepping slightly closer and into your personal space.

“So do you,” you shoot back, out of instinct. It was really a wonder anyone in the world slept at all these days, frankly. Your eyes are locked onto his lenses, which retract silently, and he comes even closer to you.

A hand brushes a lock of hair out of your face. Well, it wasn’t really in your face, but you wouldn’t be one to deny physical contact with a lover you had thought dead.

“You look…quite nice.” Adam can’t seem to summon the sleezy air that was around him earlier as part of the act. It’s just him, and you.

No covers, no secrets.

He leans down a bit more, looking at your lips. “Not just an act, huh?” you quip, and Adam groans (pretty sure you could hear his eyes rolling too).

“Shut up.”

He kisses you, and it’s like coming back to a home you’d forgotten. You push against him slightly and he pushes back, the simple kiss becoming more heated. With some difficulty you pry your lips away, looking at him under you eyelashes.

‘ _Later’_ Adam gets the gist of it and stares at you with a heated but contained gaze.

“As much as I missed you, we still have a mission to do.” You crane up into his ear. He holds you close, as if you’re going to disappear, or break somehow.

“You have the data?” he rumbles back. But damn, did that voice just _do_ things to you.

“Yeah.” The hand resting on your waist might as well be a magnet, seeing as it felt like it was stuck there and not moving anytime soon.

You feel like you can’t breathe, and take a small step out from his space, his hand still resting on your waist. This was important, you had to make sure that the culprit was caught.

“I suspected the police might’ve wanted to alter or hide the data somehow, so I made a copy of the results they had AND I uploaded my own aug sensor logs onto this disk.” You pull the two disks out of your bra. Adam arches his eyebrow.

“They let you, an aug, on site? They didn’t think you might’ve set up the bomb?”

You shake your head. “They’ve been watching me like hawks with security cameras strapped to their heads. It’s a miracle I’ve been able to do what I’ve done so far. I have a confirmed alibi, I was actually with my boss in a meeting at the time.” You laugh, but there’s no mirth in the sound. “They were actually eager to send me out first.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _‘Less risk to our officers’_. But they wouldn’t care if I’d died since I’m one of the only augs on the force. I wouldn’t be surprised if they used my death by a second bomb as a cover up.”

“Second bomb?” Jensen seems a bit puzzled. He’d been a police officer, but he doesn’t really know much about bombs except that they tend to explode.

You nod. “Yeah, it’s common nowadays for terrorist groups to set up secondary bombs to kill people trying to rescue others who got injured in the initial blast. Like the double-tap strikes they used to do with drones back in the 2000s.”

A grimace. “At least you cleared the area.” You shrug. It is, after all, your job.

“Yeah, whoever planted the initial explosion did it quick and dirty. My whole report to the police is also on that disk…”

Eyes flicking downwards, you’re trying to think of how to broach the subject of possible employment with Interpol. The (hot as _fuck_ ) agent interrupts your train of thought.

“How about we finish this exchange back at my place? While we’re not in gang territory.”

He slowly pulls you flush against him, not noticing until you feel the heat of his torso radiate through your dress. You look up to see a smirk, shades still retracted.

“Alright, there’s a vent-“

“-behind the side table. I know” Your face must look incredulous, because Adam deploys his shades again. Back to business it seems. “I have Smartvision, remember? I always case places I’m going to meet informants at.”

Another shrug on your part. “Fair enough. You first.” You gesture towards the table.

Slid to the side, it reveals a cramped-looking vent, enough for Adam to somehow squeeze through. He clambers in with little difficulty (Does he do this _regularly_?), and you follow. Normally going through this wouldn’t be a problem, but this dress is rented, and you really can’t afford to give it back in any condition less than perfect.

You hike up the skirt around your waist, leaving your legs bare to the metal. Adam crawls ahead and you follow further, around a curve or two. The din of outdoor nightlife echoes in the narrow vent as the both of you continue to make progress. As you crawl, the curve of his ass is somewhat distracting and you end up bumping into Adam, your face getting rather close to said ass in the process. He stops and turns to look at you, his ever-expressive eyebrows raise at the sight of your dress, and well…

Your panties are showing, and they’re a nice lacy number. You honestly hadn’t expected any action at all tonight, but wearing them made you feel more confident in the dress.

Now Adam’s getting a good eyeful of them, and you’re pretty sure he would pounce on you if the metal duct wasn’t so cramped. Just to fuck with him a little, you decide to use your Nighthawk cloaking system as he continues staring.

“Don’t you know not to stare at a lady? Rude.”

Your body slides out of the visible spectrum (you’re hoping your smirk is the last thing that disappeared), and Adam continues to stare at the spot where you are.

“How’re you doing that?” he taps the side of his eye frames, as if to correct a malfunction.

“What?” you whisper.

“You’re not even showing up on my Smartvision.” His frown veers into scowl territory.

You start to move forward, the cloak stuttering violently, then failing as you close any remaining space between you and Adam. He looks less alarmed than before. You shrug.

“I’ll explain later. Let’s focus on getting out of this vent, hmm?” You push into Adam slightly.

He gets the hint and keeps crawling. It’s fortunate that he’s in front of you, considering how expertly the pants were tailored. His ass is just as sweet as you remember and you’re getting quite the extended view of it. It’s requiring a lot of willpower to not just grab it and feel it’s give under your hand...

After a few turns, the glow from streetlights floods the small spaces that Adam isn’t blocking from your view, and out pop the both of you into an alley behind a trashbin.

You straighten out and dust yourself off, checking the dress carefully for tears. Adam is staring at you again, stepping into your personal space. Even though the both of you just clambered through some vents, he still manages to look damn good. His gold tie flutters, barely kept together with a loose knot. You capture it in your hand, bring it close to your face to inspect the pattern.

His hand trails down from your waist and along the length of the fabric, picking up the edge of the skirt and lifting to an almost indecent level. You can’t tell if the shiver is from the sudden draft or his touch.

“I’m guessing you rented this. Otherwise you wouldn’t have cared so much about it in the vent.”

When did he get right in your ear?

“Are you implying I don’t care about my belongings, Jensen?” You smirk and look up at him, his shades still in place. But you don’t need to see his eyes to know what he’s thinking.

He lets the dress flutter back to your side, taking your hand in his. Your sensitivity was at normal, and it was nice to really _feel_ his touch this time.

“Lead on, Adam.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the only part of the fanfic some of you will read...

You’re both almost running to the apartment, though you can’t remember how you got there. As soon as Adam punches in his code, you jump onto him and the momentum carries you both through the doorway. The small wall opposite stops you both from completely crashing through his kitchen.

Adam’s necktie pulls off with ease, fluttering to the floor. The shirt sags open and your lips are immediately on his neck, kissing and biting and nibbling, and you can feel the moans rumble beneath your lips. You push him onto the small ledge behind him (you don’t really know _what_ it is except a surface for you to take advantage of).

It takes all of your willpower to not just rip his vest off, but you manage, undoing the buttons as quick as your lust-drunk hands let you. Adam keeps interrupting each unfastening with a kiss, and soon he’s turned the tables, pushing you back against the wall next to the door.

You moan as your back hits the wall. He’s retaliating (and you _love_ it).

His beard tickles your neck, and then down your arm, as he holds you against the wall, trailing kisses down to your fingertips. You shiver with delight, now finally able to _feel_ him against you. Suddenly you get an idea.

“Sensitivity 150%,” you mutter, and everything is electric.

Adam sucks on your fingers, one by one (he was _always_ a fast learner) and the moans force their way out as the sensory overload starts to pile in. You struggle in his grasp, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations, but he’s pinned both your hands right above your head and you can’t move. You give into your baser instincts and try to distract him, maybe your legs around his torso might help?

But no, he’s still sucking on them, and now nibbling, and licking, and you’re arching into him _hard_. It’s not enough to make you come but it’s still torture, gnawing on your nerves.

“Adam,” you whine, then gasp as he licks a stripe down your palm. You’re past caring about your dignity at this point.

“Don’t think you can get away with being so tempting, ‘Snip’.” His eyes shine in the low lighting, a sliver of his teeth visible as he gives a smile. “Or should I call you Stike?”

You feel air behind you as the Interpol agent wraps his hands around the curve of your ass and pulls you away from the wall. He’s holding you and sauntering down the hallway, pressing flush to his body and raging erection. Your arms are slung around his shoulders, and even just feeling his skin under your augs sends shivers down your spine, as the sensors register every single millimeter of his skin (even his _heartbeat_ ).

Opening a door with his foot, you get a glance of the hallway you’d just gone down, until Adam lays you down onto the bed (rather _gently_ , considering how aggressive he had been). A constellation of LEDS float above you, and you can’t help but feel that Adam Jensen must be a closet romantic.

His lips are on yours quickly, softly, as if you hadn’t just been pinned (and alllmost fucked) against a wall moments ago. You instinctively respond in kind, your leg gently resting next to his, exploring his mouth. Caressing his cheek as he kisses you, your exploration of his beard is slow and careful, memorizing it anew.

_‘Looks like he let it grow out a bit. It suits him’_

The last time you’d slept with him, it had felt like a wildfire, burning out of control. This time, it’s a bonfire, controlled but flaring ever higher. It was nice to take your time for once. And this time, you could be as loud as you wanted.

Your blush at the thought is enough to make your face turn beet-red. The Interpol agent leaning over can’t help but notice and kisses each of your cheeks. You’re pretty sure your face can’t get much redder than this. Grinning, he pulls back to look you in the eye.

“I knew you were hot, but I didn’t think that you could be cute too.”

You sputter at the statement. Cute?!

He starts to kiss you all over your face, tickling your skin with his beard. Giggling, you give into temptation and reach for his sides to try and get him back for his beard antics. He chokes, then starts to double over laughing, bracing one hand next to your head and using the other to try and fend off your hands. You’re too stubborn to quit though, and keep trying to ‘attack’ him.

Finally he grabs both your wrists and (you’re pretty sure he used his reflex booster. _Cheater_ ) pins them above your head again. You’re both breathless and panting, and Jensen leans in to nuzzle you neck, taking a deep breath of your scent.

“Stop trying to distract me.”

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the one who almost got defeated by tickling.” Your mouth curls with self-satisfaction. “In fact-“

A sharp inhale from Adam was all you got as a warning before he starts to attack your neck, not just with lips but with teeth this time too. You arch back into him and moan, remembering what it was that had brought you to the bed in the first place. Hands slide down your sides, down to the bottom of your dress. Slow strokes to the insides of your thighs start from there, climbing higher and higher towards the junction of your thighs.

The whisper of the silk dress on your bare legs, followed by his hands, is a sensation you’ll never forget. You hold your breath, Adam’s mouth now ghosting over your now-damp lacy underwear. He kisses you through the panties, which barely do anything to conceal your pussy, then moves up and starts to tug them down your thighs with his…teeth?

Just watching him makes a shot of arousal streak through your body. Adam quickly swipes the panties off with his hands, too impatient to go down to your feet with just his mouth and now kisses upwards following back to where he just came from. Only now there isn’t a barrier between you and his mouth. _Fu-_

Lips finally connect and gently suck at your clit before moving further down, his tongue dragging down and burying itself inside of you. A mewl escapes you, head whipping to the side as he continues to eat you out, tongue licking and devouring, his hunger only matched by your own. Just the noise of it pours into the feedback loop of pleasure your mind has become

The scrape of beard against skin is almost painful with his enthusiasm, but it’s the spice to your pleasure and you’re choking out his name as you start to come. A growl more felt than heard travels through you, and you throw your head back involuntarily. You don’t remember it being this good but of course it is (was?) and that’s all you can focus on.

His finger traces the outer lips of your pussy as he pulls his face back. Still coming back to Earth, your hips instinctively follow the sensation of his smooth digits. He slides between your lips, grazes your slit, and-

his fingers slide inside, smooth polycarbonate meeting your silken inner folds. Your back arches.

It’s not quite heaven, but you’d be damned if it wasn’t close.

“I forgot how sensitive you are,” a note of marvel (and regret?) in his voice. Jensen strokes the side of your face with one hand, his other buried and moving inside you, slowly but surely winding you up, his face studying you as if you’re an avatar for some higher being. Hips thrusting towards his hand, you feel helpless to the sensations of pleasure he summons.

“Jensen,” you bite out, voice scarcely recognizable. “Please?” His lips are gently traveling up your collar bone and back to your neck, his hand still stroking the inside of you slowly, torturously.

He kisses you again, on the mouth this time. You count the rings in his eyes.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” He leans in with a smirk, captures your lips, but you’re starting to go crazy with lust. You follow his for a moment, then articulate what you want with a roll of your hips.

“ _Adam._ ” Your tone leaves no place for questions.

His fingers slowly leave you, but not without a few gentle strokes to you clit to keep you on your toes. You can’t help but almost squeal with frustration.

_‘This man is going to be the end of me if he keeps this up’_

Soon you’re unbuckling his belt, and he finishes the job, sliding his pants off and shimmying his hips in the process. You’re too busy staring to realize he’s also started to slowly unbutton his shirt as well, widening the slice of skin to show the whole panorama of his chest. Sure, you’d seen it before, but no-one had quite the tone of Jensen. His arms, and the hardware required to keep them there, only seem to emphasize his ability to not just survive but thrive under any condition.

You rip the rest of his shirt off, popping off the last two buttons. Normally he’d be giving you shit right now but neither of you are really concerned about material possessions at the moment. He leans over you, an arm braced next to your head, the other on your hip. Kneeling between your legs (you don’t even remember spreading them, it just _happened_ ), your eyes drink in the sight of Adam Jensen, on his knees no less. Just for you.

Your legs wind around his waist, pulling, pulling, until he’s finally where you want him. The agent’s synthetic legs are a beautiful contrast to your own natural ones, with his erection jutting upwards between them.

“Oh God,” he breathes and you can’t help but agree as he teases you with the head of his cock, sliding along your folds and touching your clit. You jerk at the contact because it’s like touching a live wire that’s somehow pure pleasure, and it’s hard not to let out another sinful moan (but damn was he a tease).

 _“Stike.”_ Adam’s eyes are half open, closing, closed with his mouth slack as he feels your wet pussy against his cock, as if your body were a revelation.

 _“Adam,”_ It’s hard not to utter his name like a prayer, especially when you never thought your night would end like this, a man (a verifiable _sex god_ ) back from the dead and getting ready to fuck you within an inch of your life.

Adam continues teases you, slowly letting the tip of his dick slide inside your pussy while you beg him for more by attempting to move your hips. But he pins them down with his arms, and you struggle fruitlessly against them as he continues to set the agonizing pace. Whining, it seems, was only something you did when Adam was involved, and especially when his grip threatens to become bruising at another attempt to spear yourself onto his dick.

A growl echoes in the room, and you can practically feel your pussy become wetter as another electric lick of lust runs through you.

“Fuck, Stike.”

The hip-bruising hand travels down to your clitoris and begins to rub tight, maddening circles around it, and your scream of frustrated desire darkens Adam’s face with satisfaction. You’re not sure if he’s God or the Devil for torturing your body so well, but it’s hard to care with his teeth and tongue at your neck again, hitting that sweet spot between neck and shoulder. It nearly causes you to come right there.

Hips rolling forward, he drives himself home between your thighs, your wetness and arousal making it frictionless. You hear someone cry out; you cannot tell if it’s you or Adam or the both of you together. It’s as if you’re moving as one now, Adam’s passion finally, finally letting loose and losing himself in you with brutal efficiency.

Your polycarbonate hands claw along his back, sensors sending a symphony of data as his muscles clench, roll, relax in a delicious rhythm bringing you higher and higher to the edge of orgasm. He tries to control the pace, tries to draw out the pleasure, but it’s been so long for the both of you. The bedframe rattles slightly with each thrust, the agent’s augmented hips driving his dick harder and deeper than any natural ever could. You’re encouraging him, almost egging him on with your moans as he hits that one spot inside of you repeatedly and without mercy.

Hands clench his back in response and you eagerly meet his thrusts with your hips, wailing as he increases the force and frequency. His pace starts to stutter, his breath coming in short pants but suddenly he is still. Eyeing you up and down hungrily, longingly, he pulls out with (what you think might be) a whine. You can’t help yourself and join in with a longing cry as you feel him sliding out, leaving an empty space.

“Godamnit Adam, I was so _close_ -“

Your teeth clench but now Adam captures your lips. Cutting you off, he intently explores your mouth with his tongue, mapping it anew and committing it to memory, and you endeavor to do the same. The taste of you on his lips is divine.

As you kiss, his hand drags down your thigh and lifts it up firmly, and something about this rings a bell. Is this the position from last time and if this is what you remember then-

Your leg is pulled up onto his shoulder and you almost cry from the relief you feel as Jensen _thrusts_ back into you, the new position letting him easily rub your clit as he fucks you harder and faster than ever. Adam’s name becomes a chant on your lips, your legs quake, you’re shaking apart with each touch to your clit, you can’t stand it, he’s fucking you into oblivion and you want him to come, want the both of you to come-

His furrowed brow suddenly relaxing is the only warning you get, and his cum starts pouring into you as he bites your shoulder hard. Far from neglecting you he instead rocks a synthetic finger rapidly against your swollen clit, still thrusting as he comes, and you’re falling off the precipice right after him.

The world fuzzes out, becomes indistinct and you feel the rush of pleasure howl in your ears with Adam as your lifeline. Pinpricks of light dance in front of you on the ceiling as you feel the augmented man’s body go limp against yours, fully sated.

\---

You’re comfortably nestled together under the covers, his larger frame resting against your back. Adam’s obsidian arm drapes over your side, stroking vaguely at your belly button before resting just under your breasts. You’re oh so relaxed, and you’re pretty sure you could fall asleep right now, but you have a niggling thought in your head. Like you might’ve forgotten something.

 “You alright Snips?”

His voice is muffled and sluggish as he’s buried his nose in the hair found at the nape of your neck. A protective arm curls around you to bring you in closer, and his lips move to brush the shell of your ear as he listens.

“Weren’t we supposed to...uh…” It’s kind of hard to form any real coherent thoughts right now, floating down from cloud nine.

“Talk about the intel?”

He’s up on one black elbow, looking down at you with a quirk to his lips (not _quite_ a smile, but close). The fact that you’re seeing him framed by little twinkling lights doesn’t help you in thinking that this is all some sort of elaborate dream you’re having. A hand similar to your own (but not yours) brushes through your hair, and you lean into the touch.

“Yeah…” It’s hard to stay awake with that performance he gave, combined with all of the events that’d happened earlier today. You’re only seeing half of Adam’s face right now because your eyelids are in the way.

A pair of lips press against your forehead, then again against your own lips. “We can do that tomorrow.”

“Mmm…” You hum your agreement, turning around in the bed to pull Adam close to your chest. At first he seems a bit surprised by how forward you’re being but relaxes once you start to stroke his back, tracing patterns on the anchoring hardware. You nuzzle your face into his chest, and you feel a laugh from within him.

You sleep deeply and peacefully. It’s the best rest you have in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, I compiled a list of augs you, the reader has. Just as a sort of way to maintain consistency!
> 
> AUG LIST FOR EOD (the reader/Stike):
> 
> Cybernetic arm prosthesis  
> Mark 10 bio-chemical sensor suite (part of arms)  
> Infolink Telecommunications Package  
> One nanomolecular blade (deployed from the right hand, long and thin to allow greater control)  
> Nighthawk passive camouflage (skinweave that makes one look like part of the environment in visual, infrared, and UV spectrums. More enhanced than the Glass shield but requires user to move very slowly, ideally not at all to avoid disruption of field. Also consumes biocells like crazy)  
> Enhanced reflex reactor
> 
> POST SARIF  
> EXPERIMENTAL Octocamo – skin weave that allows user to appear to have the same properties of what they’re touching. Obtained illegally through Koller but financed by the Police. Tends to look weird when seen up close (better for use at a distance). The chips in the first scene are what Koller is tweaking, as it’s a neural AND skin weave aug.
> 
> Implanted rebreather– installed during her time with Terminus Risk Control PMC.


End file.
